Naked Kids
by BloodRedSnowWhite
Summary: It's 1993, the Harmon family has moved into the Murder House without realizing what they are up against. Violet is a strange girl, a loner, and she falls in love with a boy with blonde hair and goes by the name of Tate. AU/ Tate and Violet are alive
1. Introduction

Someone has moved in the Murder House.

Not just one, but two more, a family. Violet watches from the shadows, invisible because she doesn't want them to see her. Only Moira has shown her face so far, typical when the father has a liking for her. Violet sits on the steps most of the time, turning her head left and right as she watches the father and mother go from one room to another. They hardly ever go up the stairs; they were too busy with work. Violet counts the hours – a habit. What else was she supposed to do? She thought it was overrated to join the other ghosts on scaring the new family. She couldn't steep to that level; they were the ones that scared off her parents.

It has been five years since Violet's parents ran way to continue their happy life. When Ben came home with Vivien from the psyche ward, Violet had taken her decaying body from the basement and dragged it to where her father would see it immediately.

She waited until they finally pulled up on the drive way, disappearing from the naked eye. There was a silence, a pause, and then Ben fell to the floor. He cried, hysterical and violently. Vivien walked in half after later, her mouth opening as if she were about to say something. She looked tired and annoyed – Violet thought it was probably because Vivien had waited, thinking Violet was throwing a 'teenage' tantrum. Only if it were true but Violet saw the look on her mother's face, the way her expression fell. Her brows came together, her hand covering her mouth and the other reaching for something to hold on to. She fell to the ground, hand reaching out for her daughter but instead she pulled back.

In the back of Violet's mind, even in this moment, she still had a snarky remark. Even she would've been grossed out of her rotting body.

There was a misunderstanding. Vivien had thought the worse, melodramatically accusing Ben on killing their daughter. Ben tried to explain that he had dragged Violet to the car, pulling her by the arm – she felt so alive – begging to leave her. She admitted it then, she was dead but Ben wouldn't believe her. It was a crazy idea. He had ignored her, rolling his eyes.

There was more arguing, shouting and crying and Violet just watched. Despite her empty vessel, she nearly forgot that they were here. She had imagined she were seven years old again, sitting on the stairwell while mom and dad argued about money. They almost looked normal, the family they were before the moved in. Violet wished for those times but she was dead.

And she has to get her mother and father to leave, so they can be safe.

It took two weeks before Ben and Vivien left Murder House and Violet and all the other ghosts. Violet didn't move from her bed after that for weeks. She was dead, it didn't matter. She is forever bound to the house. A forgotten soul.

"Cameron?"

That's the boy's name.

Tate's favourite word.

This isn't even how the story goes. Well, some parts, but not all of it. The part of the story where her parents run away seems to lighten the story a bit.

Let's rewind a bit. Violet is not dead, nor has the other family moved in. It is 1993, December 28. The Harmon family has just moved in and the boy named Cameron does not come in into the picture until later.

Who is this Tate? He must play an important role to be mentioned like that.

Who is Cameron?

Why does that matter? Cameron is a different story; this one is about a girl named Violet and a boy named Tate, who fell in love, be teenagers, have sex, disrespect parents, talk back to teachers, and die loved, years before this boy named Cameron moves in.

* * *

><p>i'm really sorry for the grammer and mispelling. and yes call me lazy for not even bothering to correct it.<p> 


	2. Chapter 1

I had major writers block. Already? Yes. and i had no idea what to write and this was the best i could do. R&R. please be kind, this is my first actual story. I've usually wrote one-shots. Enjoy. If you found a mistake, or bad grammer, i must have missed it. and i'm horrible with snarky remarks. and i don't think i've kept anyone in character at all. which is totally bad. but I tried my best. and thank you for reading and reviewer the previous chapter. I reread the previous chapter and yes it was confusing but it was meant to be an introduction. Giving a small preview of what the future chapters will be like. and this Cameron person will not be mentioned until much much later - he is a main character. But this first part of the story - not sure how many chapters - is all about Violet and Tate.

I'm sorry for the short chapter but I'm busy with work and post-christmas stuff. and unforturnately, homework. Yes, homework. And this probably might not be even true, but the Langdon house is across from the Harmon house. I'm not sure if it is in the TV show but this is how it will be for my story. Just mentioning the fact.

* * *

><p><strong>Violet's POV<strong>

Blonde hair.

That was the first thing I noticed.

I woke up early that morning and took a shower. With the extra time I had, I moved in a slow-absent pace. I search through my clothes, still in my shirt and underwear – my usual attire when I go to bed and a towel wrapped around my head. I grab the first shirt my fingers touched and threw it on. Stepping away from the open window and turning away from the body-length mirror, I strap on my bra. For some reason, I can't do this naked other than being covered. I can't stand the sight of my body. I lift my shirt, looking at the fresh new cut. It was just something I couldn't do.

I can't tell you why I started cutting, it was just something I picked up on. Well, probably not. I used to have a friend in grade school her name was Molly, and she asked me to do it. I refused, telling her that I couldn't use a thumbtack. I said no and she never asked again. She said it was just something she saw on TV.

I grab a pair of jeans and step in them, one foot and the other. Before I pulled my pants all the way up, I looked down at the cuts. I sit down on my bed and brush my hand against them. Something in my stomach clenched as the pain shot through my body. It was fresh and it was infected. I had to clean it but I ran out of rubbing alcohol. The cuts on my stomach weren't as bad – they weren't bad at all, they were only little white marks because it hurt too much to tear the skin. I should be writing a sad, suicidal death poem, if I said I still felt pain. It was inevitable, how could someone not feel pain? It was human nature.

It burned when I brushed my hand against the cuts again. It hurt; it hurt more than the cuts on my arms or even the wimpy ones on my stomach. The skin was sensitive – too sensitive – my thighs are red and splotchy. I should've done my laundry, now I was forced to wear pants that were too loose and rubbed against the insides of my thighs – causing it the cuts to open.

It was stupid of me to start this habit; it was something I started when I was thirteen. Something I shouldn't have cave in to. Molly something asked if I could do it because she couldn't because her mother would find out and I was only person in the whole world that knew how to keep secrets. Me? Secrets – are you serious? But she was thirteen; she still believed Kid's Helpline actually worked. And of course I refused, like I said before, but that didn't stop me from going home after school and trying with the kitchen knife.

I was strange like that. I would think of every possible wrong thing a single cut could do to me. I did it anyways because Molly hadn't forced me to but because I wanted to. My parents could find out, my arm possibly getting cut off because it was unable to move – highly unlikely – from a flesh wound or I'd be accused of trying to kill myself. I wasn't stupid. I was just curious.

At first, it was something I did because I was bored but now I did it so often I refused to wear anything that couldn't cover my arms. Though my parents wouldn't ask or say something about it, they noticed. They weren't as stupid as they put out and they would still notice that the house was on fire even if they were in the middle of one of their screaming matches. I'm sure they noticed the clothes changing but I bet they never suspect as drastic as this, finding out their teenage daughter is a suicidal freak.

Buttoning my jeans and throwing on whatever sweater, I turn to my window and reach to close it. Then I saw him and his blonde hair. I froze and I didn't know how to react. I never noticed how the house from across the street looked almost perfect. I garden tended and watered. Not a single thing out of place. But I could see past it. He was a problem, I could tell - just like I was the problem in this house. I didn't catch his name the other day when he came with his sister and mother. I knew the girl's name, Adelaide and his mother's, Constance but his name wasn't spoken. Even when the family introduced themselves – he was 'my son' as Constance said after she introduced herself and her daughter.

He lifted up his hand and gave a small wave. I raised a brow and flicked him off, closing the blinds.

It is my first day at Westfield and I ashamed to admit that I am nervous.

* * *

><p>All of it goes by fast; I don't have time to think when she grabs my hair. I grab at her wrist with both hands and attempt to push her off. But instead she keeps hold of my hair and pulls – hard. I bit on my tongue, drawing blood and lean against her, pushing both of us down. I turn over and straddle her, finally seeing her face. She screams her eyes wide and nostrils bore. "Are you insane?" I hear a voice, grabbing at my shoulders and pulling me off of her. A teacher, I don't know her name, forces me to look at her. "What are you doing?"<p>

I didn't say anything and pulled myself from her and stalked off. The first day of school and it was already the worst day of my life. It's past nine when the halls are empty and I have no idea where to go. The teacher who pulled me off the other girl found me couple minutes after and demanded an explanation. She said 'Leah' had told her about me smoking on school grounds and it was against school rules. I hadn't even noticed, I hadn't even noticed that I was awake.

I do that.

Forgetting that I'm awake, sometimes.

I guess it is because I don't sleep – I can't sleep – and ever since then, I've been having these hallucinations. And sometimes I forget what is real and what is not.

The teacher lady takes me to the office and sits through the whole process of the principal explaining the ground rules and what policies the school has. I had thought the teacher lady would leave when Principal Higgins explains my schedules and where my classes were. But the teacher lady stayed, throwing daggers with her eyes. I'm annoyed, for sure.

She stays behind when Principal Higgins says I can leave.

I go to my first class that day and all I can do is be forced to sit through another lecture and what we are doing to the do for the next year. I sit at the very back once I go to my next class and I do my best to be invisible. Even with the noise in the room, the clicks of the person's heels coming towards me are distinctive. I look up and it's the same girl from this morning. She smiles, holding out her hand. It's a fake smile. "Leah."

I raise a brow. She looks over her shoulder and I notice the same teacher standing in the doorway. It's a peace offering. I glare at the teacher lady and push Leah's hand away. I pretend as if I didn't notice the teacher. "I'm sorry but I don't take charity," I stand up, smiling. "And oh, it's okay to talk about your problems. My dad's a psychiatrist, I'm sure he could squeeze you in for an appointment."

Her back is turned from the teacher. Her eyes turn into slits and her smile is gone. "I never agreed to this but I'm in the student council and if I still want that position, I can't get in trouble. If I see you smoking again, I'm not only going to mess up your 12$ haircut." She takes my hand and shakes it, squeezing as hard as she could. She looks down at my clothes, smiling. "You're dressed like a scarecrow."

"You're dressed like a Barbie."

She leaves, nose in the air and sits down across the room, the teacher lady smiles at Leah and glares at me, disappearing from the doorway.

"You can't take Leah seriously," A voice says near my ear. I look to my side and the first thing I saw was blonde hair. It's him, from this morning, the one who was looking through my window. "She's been diagnosed of being Bipolar in the sixth grade."

Seriously, I should've felt bad for being such a bitch to her but I'm not the person to easily forgive. "Really?"

"No, but everyone else thinks so." He smirks, all dimples.

"That would've been sort of funny if I didn't think you were some kind of perv."

"I wasn't exactly looking, I didn't see anything, I swear." He says, hands in the air. "You just happened to be there when I was looking through my window."

"I don't believe that." A stupid smile on his lips.

He leans in. I freeze, his face close to mine. "Well, maybe I had been staring."


End file.
